Light and Shadow

Chapter 5 - Andor

Andor needed a better body.

Unknown to the other drunken patrons of The Dragon's Head, the wraith's dark spirit had controlled the fresh corpse of a tattered peasant nobody had yet found. It was wise to choose such a character so that Andor could blend in with the rest and become invisible.

No one paid much attention to a grubby farmhand.

His more permanent physical host would require much more agility and strength to defeat Magnus in battle. Andor knew all too well his brother's lean draconic physique could prove surprisingly deceptive. Back when they had both shared the same body, they'd fooled so many foes into complacency.

Best not to fall for my own trick.

Andor didn't want to fight. If only Magnus could see reason and end the foolish Split once and for all, they could reunite in peace. Alas, his foolish half always complicated matters: Only with his explicit consent could Andor rejoin him.

But Magnus would not consent. Neither to rejoining with his brother nor to going back home. Andor knew this to be true, though he dared not to explore too carefully how he could have been so certain.

Reap the harvest, his Queen had said.

And he would. But not without a powerful body.

Andor knew one thing above all: Magnus would never deign to amuse himself at a tavern where students and travelers succumbed to their base desires. Here Andor could observe his potential hosts without any danger of being discovered by his haughty twin.

To the tune of manic fiddles and flutes, the other patrons pressed up against each other's sweating bodies. Arguing, eating, drinking, dancing, celebrating, and breathing words of forbidden lust.

All Andor's host had wanted was a warm meal.

Andor ambled toward the roaring hearth, his knobbly knees almost buckling under him from poor nutrition. The autumn chill had frozen him to the bone. It persisted. Still the warmth from both the fire and the multitude of bodies embraced him like a tender lover.

But the stench did not.

That smacked him in the face like a cast-iron frying pan. Even the scent of freshly baked bread and hot stew couldn't overpower the potent combination of sweat and stale ale.

While Andor warmed up, he grimaced at the trophy hanging above the mantle. The one that had given the tavern its namesake. On the brick chimney the owner had placed a huge stuffed shadow dragon head. Scales as dark as night. Glimmering in the flickering flames.

The wraith recognized him as one of the truly noble generals from the last great battle with the Light, slain by the fearsome Monster of Minningen, General Stormbringer.

Once Andor had rejoined with Magnus, he could challenge the dwarf general in combat and return with his disgusting head on a pike. Only together could they manage it. If so, they would be hailed as one of the greatest warriors Teufelwald had ever created.

They would atone for their crimes at last, and his Queen would gaze upon him with pride.

Andor turned to the boisterous gathering in the far corner where Hilda, the defiler's daughter, partied with her friends. They were celebrating some great achievement. Though what exactly, they did not reveal.

It would have been so easy to attack her. But Andor could not bring himself to do so.

Fierce loyalty, gruff kindness, and crass but jovial humor radiated from her like a warm blanket. Her magnetism plucked the strings in his draconic soul to make soothing music.